


Shoot Me Down, I Don't Want to Remember

by shotgunsinlace



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Letters, Love/Hate, M/M, Mutual Pining, Spoilers, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21590794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace/pseuds/shotgunsinlace
Summary: Not only did the message make Sam think about where pizzas came from, but it pushed the corner of his mouth up into an unexpected smile.OR, alternatively, Sam accidentally replies to "Peter's" request for pizza and emotions are aggravatingly developed throughout his trek across the UCA.
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges/Higgs Monaghan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 231





	Shoot Me Down, I Don't Want to Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Не хочу о тебе вспоминать](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25773070) by [Riru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riru/pseuds/Riru), [StealthGames](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealthGames/pseuds/StealthGames)



> Higgs fits the bill of "heaping dumpster fire" that is allegedly my type. I remember when I first watched the reveal trailer for Death Stranding at E3 years ago, I pointed at the television and said "I'm gonna write fic for that one day". Here I am.
> 
> Obviously spoilers for the whole goddamn game. This may or may not have a continuation. Haven't decided yet.

_Dear Sam._

The greeting loops like a scratched LP record, a haunting yet grating ghost of a past that should remain where it belongs rather than dredge up feelings best left ignored. But, much like the rest of this wretched world, some things refuse to stay dead and burned.

_From the bottom of my heart, I truly appreciate your efforts. The pizza tasted superb, as always, and it makes me wonder whether Bridges has a gourmet chef dishing out pies on demand or if they’ve been mass produced, frozen, thrown into some microwave minutes before you take on the order. I guess not all mysteries are of life and death, huh. I wish I could greet you in person the next time you drop by. ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥_

Not only did the email make Sam think about where pizzas came from, but it pushed the corner of his mouth up into an unexpected smile.

He can count on one hand the amount of people he’s replied to since getting his cuff link. He admits to enjoying the time spent going through personal correspondences, especially after a grueling delivery across unforgiving terrain. It makes his job seem like it’s worth something – a tiny cog in the machine of the UCA. Meeting people and making connections doesn’t seem half as bad when he only has to interact with them for brief moments of time.

However, most of these people’s names vanish the moment they’re out of sight. Sam doesn’t carry unnecessary baggage along for the ride.

Peter Englert lingers, oddly enough.

He can’t put his finger on the why, but he figures it has something to do with the knee-jerk reply he wrote seconds after reading Peter’s message: _why don’t you?_ Proper formatting fucked to the wind, no greeting or signature. As a man of little words, Sam is confused as to why he even bothered replying to some random prepper who is particularly out of the way of any reconstructed highway.

Sam gets his reply two weeks later in a safehouse en route to Mountain Knot City. The message is long and winding, saying too much yet nothing at all, once more thanking and praising Sam for his continued service. Not once does he mention meeting in person, which Sam is perfectly fine with. Who the fuck knows when he’ll be back near Lake Knot again?

BB looks at him with an almost accusatory stare.

“What? Don’t you want a break from all this snow?” Sam says, patting the tank as he makes for the umbrella by the lockers.

* * *

At the end of a mostly one-sided conversation, Sam frequently revisits the messages but is careful not to think much about them. He mostly ruminates on them after slipping past BTs undetected, with BB cooing happily at the avoidance of confrontation. When fog clings to mountain tops and the bubbling of rivers is the only soundtrack to the otherwise desolate space he traverses, Sam allows himself the briefest opportunity to think about things that don’t revolve around the Chiral Network, or Amelie, or making it to the next sunrise alive.

Thoughts and ideas are safe if they stay in his head, and even then, he’s extremely particular of what he allows to manifest at the forefront of his mind. Sitting at cairns, massaging his shoulders, he wonders why Peter always sounds so desperate for Sam’s attention, and that’s saying something when compared to the mail he gets from the likes of other starstruck Bridges members. 

He figures he should reply at some point, each message slightly more aggressive than the last as they continue to pour in, piling up and drowning out everything else in his inbox, but the long trek back to Mama’s lab has left him a new kind of tired, with a bone-deep ache that wears down on him despite the enhanced exoskeleton holding most of the weight on his back. Of course, after Mama requests to be transported back to Lockne at Mountain Knot, Sam deflates all the more but accepts the order with due diligence.

“Well, shit. I had a special surprise prepped and everything.”

Sam is no stranger to shitty days but running from a BT roughly the size of a building with a living human strapped to his back is definitely a new experience. 

He really hates that asshole’s guts.

* * *

_Dearest Sam:_

 _I hope the road is treating you well. Mine has kept me busy, pushing and pulling, demanding things of me I never thought would be a problem to begin with. You see, once upon a time, I was a porter too, until I fell on rough times, forcing me to reevaluate my lot in life. Luckily, I found a road of gold that led me to bigger and better things. Or, quite frankly, this road found me. Granted, I did most of the work in connecting us, delivering materials and building it from the foundation up, but it’s all been worth it. You see, now I have a heading, something a lot of people lack in the aftermath of the Death Stranding. It’s not easy. I don’t know how you continue to do it, my friend._

_Do you ever question your choices, your reason for being, the will that continues to drive you forward towards Edge Knot City? Towards Amelie? It all sounds so exhausting. Sometimes I wish we could both spend time in a hot spring, listen to some music, and philosophize about the ways we could change our destinies._

* * *

At the edge of the tar belt, Sam cradles Lou’s pod as timefall eats away at what little cargo he has on his back. For all this talk about connecting people and building bridges, Sam can’t be bothered to think about whoever he’s leaving behind to do what he must. Sure, he honestly does appreciate everyone’s help and hopeful enthusiasm, their kindness and warmth, their want for his success for reasons beyond that of politics truly makes this all seem worth continuing for.

He still hasn’t replied to Peter and maybe that’s for the best, considering the nightmares that grab hold of him even during waking hours. It always while doing innocuous things that they occur. He could be in the shower or brushing his teeth, when Peter’s words are often whispered directly into his ear by the voice of the man in the gold mask.

It makes perfect sense the more he thinks about it, if he ascribes meaning to the metaphorical musings Peter is so fond of in his longer messages. The praise that borders on mockery, disdain Sam can’t figure out if it’s directed to the sender or the receiver. All subtle little details that sit heavy in his gut, the knowledge that he let his guard down for a liar, that warm and gentle words reminded Sam of a time he could be soft.

All speculation. He doesn’t know for certain that Peter isn’t really Peter Englert. For all he knows, Sam may as well be sabotaging himself. He’s awfully good at that, having had all his life to perfect the art.

The odradek comes to life and drags Sam away from his thoughts, its flapping panels going from blue to orange within moments. He crouches down and holds his breath, eyes scanning for the wispy silhouettes the signs have warned him about, but the flash of an idea has him abandoning his carefulness. He knows how to get across the belt.

“You with me, Lou?” he says, walking out onto the rocky shore, arms waving high above his head.

* * *

_Hey, Sam—_

_You seem like the kind of man to have a heart of gold, big enough to shove what’s left of this world into it. You wouldn’t be doing any of this otherwise, I reckon. I gotta ask, though. That heart of yours warm enough to love a monster?_

* * *

“I got the whole world— in the palm of my hand.”

At the very least, Sam gets the short-lived pleasure of repeatedly shooting him before he makes off with Amelie over his shoulder.

The bullet wounds that pull him to the Seam are, for once, a welcome reality check.

* * *

_My Dearest Sam Bridges:_

_I once loved a monster, and a helluva lot of good it did me. I actually tried piecing him back together once the deed had been done, tried pretty hard to prevent a voidout, but he’d worn me down pretty damn badly. Lost track how long ago that happened, but I never regretted it. Still don’t. That just isn’t who am I. Gotta keep on keeping on, as they say. Guess you and I aren’t that different after all, Sam._

_Given the choice, wouldn’t you end it all?_

_Forever yours. ♥_

* * *

Sam quickly loses track once it gets bloody, his knuckles splitting open with every blow he lands. Time is near nonexistent on the Beach, and for once it feels like it, as the two of them hang suspended in a bubble of their own creation – one of violence, hatred, and other emotions Sam hesitates to name. He wonders if his opponent fears them too, beneath the cocky surface now caked in blood and tar.

One more volley of punches, a knee to the stomach, and an elbow to the face is enough to end it. The two of them tumble onto the black sand, narrowly avoiding razor sharp rocks as they hungrily gasp for salty air to fill their burning lungs. Sounds of pain and discomfort are only half eclipsed by the sound of waves, and Sam finds it partially comforting giving the sudden release he feels from getting physical after months of keeping it all in.

“Getting a little touchy-feely there, Mr. Aphenphosmphobia,” Higgs says, turning his head enough to stare directly at Sam not three feet away from him. His laughter carries hollowly, spreading like a contagion, making Sam answer it with a smile meant to be a scowl. “Didn’t think you were that desperate to get your hands on me.” The mirth in his voice cuts off cleanly. “You never replied.”

“Didn’t see the point,” Sam says. He remains on his back, gazing up at the gray sky, “Not when you kept fucking everything up for me. Figure that’d been enough to get your fix.”

Higgs continues to grin at him, and it’s a look eerie enough to chill the back of Sam’s neck. “Oh, no, no, never. The best hit always came from the fact that you have me hanging around your neck, connecting people, connecting the two of us, and you aren’t even aware. Third tab from the right. That’s the Higgs field equation.” He turns his attention skyward. “The particle of god that permeates all existence.”

Sam touches his Q-pid, the mere motion of lifting his arm hurting from fingertip to shoulder. His neck throbs. “Huh.” He’s just a porter. He leaves the science to the scientists and trusts they know what they’re doing. 

He also isn’t moved by having certain equations etched onto a contraption he never wanted to carry to begin with, but he keeps that to himself. What truly etched itself into his psyche were Higgs’ words, always so cynical and mostly facetious, but always carrying the smallest hint of honesty hidden between the lines. Not a call for help, neither a confession, but a conversation.

“Well, get on with it. You wanna try and save the world, Mr. Hero, now’s your chance. Too bad it won’t amount to shit, though, but it’s always fun to watch you scramble. What’s it gonna be? Saved a couple bullets if you’re feeling merciful. Or, if you’re feeling this… _connection_ between you and I, instead, you’re more than welcome to use that strand on me. If you catch my drift.”

“You’re a sick fuck.”

Higgs laughs and coughs midway through it. “Ain’t no point pretending to be someone I’m not. I’m all done wearing masks.”

Always with the masks. Maybe Sam should shed his own for once, if only to ease the final moments of a dying man. A dying man who doesn’t deserve compassion, by all means; not after all he has done over the years, the lives he’s ruined and destroyed for an ideal. Just like everyone else in this doomed endeavor.

Sam hauls himself up, dragging his body across the small distance between them. He sighs heavily, soothing the repulsion within as he would Lou, steadying the twitching of his fingers as he reaches down to drag a gloved thumb along the markings on Higgs’ forehead. He does it again, this time carding all of his fingers through hair thickly matted with tar.

It’s the first time in a very long time since he's willingly touched someone of his own accord, and he doesn’t want to think about the implications of having Higgs be the one on the receiving end of such a miniscule demonstration of affection.

He watches the brief shift of emotions on his face, from hostility to confusion, to gentle surrender as moisture gathers along the dark lines around his eyes.

“Why?” Higgs says, reaching up to touch the hand on his face, but Sam pulls away before he gets the chance to make contact.

Sam gets to his feet at the sound of footsteps slowly approaching them, the tell-tale squeak of leather alerting him of Fragile’s arrival. 

He dusts off his jumpsuit and with a final glance at Higgs’ painfully vulnerable face, Sam nods his head at Fragile to do what needs to be done. A promise is a promise, and Sam knows better than to put himself first. They will all just have to wait to deal with their actions once this is all over.

Higgs’ story may have ended, but Sam still has an order to complete. 

At the very least, he was able to deliver a small amount of comfort to the man who unintentionally gave him yet another reason to continue seeking out the next sunrise.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on twitter [@astramaxima](https://twitter.com/astramaxima)!


End file.
